I love writing this story so much, and I'm SO glad that you guys are enjoying it. You guys are the best readers for putting up with me, honestly. I just have to wait until I have the right scenes to write and such. But I'm feeling good right now (which is like today, haha), so I might start figuring out the rest of what's going to happen in Part I. I am a Spuhura shipper to the fullest, so I'm trying to get to where they're in a scene together as fast as I can (without leaving anything good out), but it's going to take a minute. In the meantime, we'll continue to see them both, separately (sigh).
Since I took so long to post this, you guys get a summary from the previous update!
Summary: Spock is pretty much a kicked puppy without Uhura around, and Leonard's feeling like he took too much on by becoming Uhura's secret keeper because of it; and Uhura's worried about her hybrid baby, but Kamau has a doctor buddy who specializes in these sorts of things and will be caring for Nyota throughout her pregnancy.
Nyota hadn't been inside of a normal doctor's office since she'd joined Starfleet. The past few years of her life, she'd seen nothing but Sickbays where the patients all wore some uniform or another. It was refreshing, she supposed, to visit the doctor in her leisure clothes, with no threat of imminent danger forcing her to rush herself and the doctor—poor Leonard—through the whole thing.
Kamau had dropped his sister off not too long ago. It'd been perhaps twenty minutes and, since Nyota's arrival, the nurses had called back three patients who'd been there before her and she'd seen one leave. She wasn't in a hurry of any kind. She hadn't left her parents' home in weeks, and she and the baby were desperately in need of some fresh air. Besides, Kamau was at work—he was a big shot, on the board of some MNC's Kenyan facilities—and he wouldn't be able to come back and get her until the evening rolled around. It wasn't as if Nyota was stranded: her sister, Makena, didn't live too far away and was awaiting her call (she either worked night shifts or from home, Nyota couldn't remember); her father was at his senior fencing lessons, which he'd told her, repeatedly, he would leave for her in a heartbeat; and her mother was sitting by the house phone, she presumed, satisfied with living out her retirement in her living room, knitting clothing for her grandchild.
Things were turning out to be much better than Nyota had anticipated. Even after their initial obligatory niceties, Nyota's family was still as caring and supportive as ever. She'd been keeping up with her languages and had successfully reacquainted herself with her brother and sister on an intimate level. Sometimes, she'd lie awake at night, either from the restlessness or the natural discomforts that came with pregnancy, and she'd pretend, just for a little while, until she fell asleep, that it'd always be like this—her parents and Makena and Kamau would always be a phone call away; she would always be there, in Kenya, and her unborn child along with her, attending all the schools and playing all the games their mother had before them; and she would always be contented with the simplicity of life on earth.
But that was just pretend. Nyota knew that she wouldn't be home for longer than need be. In spite of all the dangers she'd encountered in her line of work, all the baggage she'd left behind, she could never quite fathom herself leaving it for good. She'd had a taste of the world outside of the world, and, while it was nice to take a breather, life on earth paled in comparison to life on a starship.
Even still, she had every intention of making her peaceful time spent on solid ground count. Once she got back out there, there was no telling when she'd come down again.
No, she was in no rush whatsoever to get back to the Enterprise.
The bell above the front door sounded to signal another visitor and, instinctively, Nyota looked up from the new mothers magazine in her lap. In entered what she presumed to be a father and his daughter, the latter of whom couldn't be any older than five. The man had clearly been having a long day (the day had just started), and the girl wasn't helping him to make it any better, it seemed. Nyota loved communications and that included body language. Right then, the seeds of irritation in the father's every gesture were very telling. This alarmed Nyota, at first; and then she realized that something besides the man's young daughter must have irked him into that state, for, contrary to what Nyota had briefly assumed before, the girl was making her father's day better. With every tug on his shirt, every childish giggle, the man's face brightened.
Nyota was well aware of just how rude staring was—she'd been stared at in nearly every possible manner—but she couldn't help herself. The sight warmed her heart and, at the same time, it left a twisted knot in her stomach. It frightened her, more than anything—the reality that that was something her child would possibly never have.
Instinctively, Nyota rested her hand on her stomach. She looked away, then, having come to her senses, but she was too late: the girl had already met her eyes. She poked her father in the side repeatedly and pointed at Nyota's stomach. Her bump had only recently begun protruding from beneath her clothing, and it was not immediately noticeable, unless someone was searching for it. The hand on her stomach would've been a tell-tale sign for anyone, though, she supposed.
Nyota had a bright beam on her face when she looked up again. She'd had every intention of humoring the young girl, but then:
"Ms. Nyota Uhura." It was a red-haired nurse, one she'd seen already. She'd caught Nyota off guard. "Hm?"
"The doctor's ready to see you now."
"Oh." Nyota plastered on a placated smile and stood. "Right."
The nurse moved to open the door further.
Nyota turned and waved to the little girl.
"What do you think about kids, Spock?"
Jim knew just how problematic he was being, but he felt that he deserved to have a little fun.
Six weeks. For six weeks, Jim's favorite linguist had been frolicking about somewhere on earth, while Jim and the rest of the Enterprise crew were left to deal with the moping and the grumpiness—Vulcans didn't do either of those, of course, but when someone had been as close in proximity to Spock as Jim had for years now, they noted the tell-tale quirks of his brows and the ever-so-slight curling of the corners of his mouth. Plus, he'd virtually erased from memory all of the attributes and features of human culture he'd been trying to, for lack of a better word, assimilate into—he no longer made any effort to establish rapports with his inferiors, nor did he go out of his way to play three-dimensional chess with the guys in one of the recreation rooms once his shift was over. And, worst of all, he'd been a completely blunt prick on the bridge as of late. He'd sent one of Uhura's temporary replacements to her quarters crying after her shift a week ago, just because she'd translated a message of little consequence inaccurately. Jim blamed his own ire with his First Officer for him sending Bones to comfort the woman, of all people—he still hadn't heard the end of that one.
All this to say: Jim was miserable. Spock was the source of said misery. Therefore, Jim deserved to have a little fun at Spock's expense.
At least, that's the conclusion that logic would lead him to.
And here he was, following Spock to the table where they, Bones, McCoy, and all the rest of the usual suspects typically sat in the mess deck, badgering Spock about kids. Jim almost felt bad for him. Almost.
They'd taken their unassigned-assigned seats across from one another and Jim had eaten a spoonful of his chicken noodle soup—slurped, more like, but it didn't really matter because the mess deck was always deserted this time of night—before Spock finally humored him.
"Children are…people—at times, they can be hyperactive and inquisitive people." Spock paused. "Why do you ask, Captain?" He took a bite of his own meal.
Spock wasn't biting much—not that Jim expected him to, under the circumstances (he had to be exhausted, Vulcan biology considered and all), but it was every bit disappointing as it was reassuring: somewhere in there, behind whatever he had become, he was still the same old Spock.
"I'm just curious. Would you ever have kids?" He masked his mirth with his fist cupping his upturned lips.
Jim could've sworn that Spock stilled for a minute there, but his eyes could've been playing tricks on him, after that day on the bridge.
"No," Spock said, curtly.
That was when alarm bells sounded in Jim's head, and he realized he'd taken a wrong turn into dangerous territory. He cleared his throat and set his glass of water down on the table; he crossed his arms on the tabletop and regarded Spock with unease.
"Come on, Spock. You're telling me that if you could have a kid—a mini-me—with someone who you really loved—."
Spock set his fork down on his plate rather abruptly. Jim supposed that was the Vulcan equivalent of slamming something down in frustration.
"Illogical. That will never happen."
He'd never seen Spock like this.
It was better to leave that can of worms closed, then. At least, until Jim was awake enough to deal with it properly.
Jim had a difficult time obeying anyone, however, including himself, especially when it came to the welfare of his friends. In his defense, he did try a gentler approach this time around.
Lowering his voice, so as to not draw attention from anyone who might be wandering the halls, Jim said, seriously, "You know she's coming back, right, Spock?"
"Captain, this is hardly a discussion I desire to have at the present time," Spock said, firmly.
Jim shook his head disapprovingly. "All right, but you do understand that if this starts to affect your work, it's going to come up again, right?"
"I assure you, Captain, that none of my personal affairs have or will interfere with my work." With that, Spock stood and collected his plate and mug of tea. He'd obviously been waiting to do that for some time. "If you will excuse me, Captain—."
Irritable and fatigued, Jim waved him off. "Sure, sure. See you tomorrow, bright and early."
Spock turned on his heel and walked away as quickly as Vulcanly-humanly possible.
"It's Jim when we're off-duty, you know!" Jim called after him, to no avail.
There was a noodle dangling from his lips.
The nurse took Nyota's vitals and then left her in one of the examination rooms. Nyota was instructed to remove her clothing, put on the customary cloth gown, and sit on the exam table. Now that she'd done all of that, she was simply waiting for the doctor to arrive.
"Doctor Z's coming. He's right down the hall, wrapping things up with another patient." That was what the nurse had told her.
Nyota lie back on the exam table, her fingers intertwined over her stomach, and stared up at the ceiling. She had no intentions on dozing off, but, if it happened, so be it. There was no telling how long Doctor Z would actually take, depending on what he was dealing with in the other room.
She was not at fault, then, when her eyes had fluttered half-closed by the time Doctor Z appeared.
Well, he'd knocked first, but her reaction time had been off as of late, so she really didn't grasp what was happening until he had a foot in the door.
"Hello?" There was confusion in his voice. A question hidden within a question.
Having regained her senses, Nyota shot into an upright position on the exam table—only to send her insides into a frenzy. She winced and held her stomach. By then, of course, the doctor had noticed her, and he rushed to her side and reached out to help, just to have his hands batted away.
Nyota shook her head. "It's nothing—it's my fault. I forgot that I can't do that anymore." She tried to laugh it off, but the sharp pain was still there.
"Yeah, I wouldn't make any sudden moves like that." Doctor Z had a look of nervous mirth about him; he didn't take his eyes off of Nyota until her pain subsided and she straightened up. He cleared his throat and tucked his clipboard between his forearm and side. "All right, Miss Uhura. We've had quite the eventful start." He extended his hand to her, and she shook it, naturally. "I'm Doctor Galen Z, family physician. I'll be filling in for Doctor Goma for the foreseeable future."
"Doctor Goma?" Nyota frowned and let her hand sink into her lap. "My brother, Kamau Uhura, referred me to you specifically. He told me he set up this appointment with you—."
The faintest of smiles graced Doctor Z's lips, and he held up his hand to quiet her. His blue eyes glittered with amusement when he spoke. "Relax. Kamau did set this up; he told me everything I needed to know. And, while I'm honored to be helping you through this interspecies pregnancy, you're going to need an obstetrician at some point. That's where Doctor Goma comes in."
"Oh. Okay." Nyota's smile was one of embarrassment. "So, you are really an expert in this, then? The interspecies pregnancy thing?" She trusted Kamau with her life, but there were certain areas where he wasn't the best authority.
"I would hope so. I mean, I've been behind the scenes of plenty a pregnancy, and I practically own the place." He looked over her chart again, flipping through the pages as he went.
She laughed because she thought it'd been a joke. The man was rather young to be a seasoned physician—he couldn't be any older than she was. He was a lean and healthy man, with blonde hair and freckled skin. He was pale, but he looked green, metaphorically speaking. There was a very slim chance that he owned an entire practice.
Doctor Z arched his brows. "Something funny, Miss Uhura?"
Her laughter quickly subsided. She regarded him with bemusement. "That was a joke, right? You were joking."
Either because he liked seeing her squirm or he was genuinely interested in her reasoning, Doctor Z stared at her and crossed his arms in front of him, the clipboard held safely in his grip. "Tell me, why would I be joking?"
"Your name's not on the door."
The man sighed, clearly annoyed, though perhaps not entirely at his patient. No, his ire seemed to be built up, the product of years of enduring…something. "The names are the door are, if I remember correctly, Eoife, Claufin, and Zulu." She recited them in perfect order, her pronunciation correct and all. "And your name is—."
"Doctor Zhaynaasse, yes." He trailed her gaze to the nametag he'd somewhat purposely forgotten to remove, as he did for all of his other patients. He was beginning to regret that decision. "Everyone knows me as Zulu, though."
"Why?"
"Because Zhaynaasse is a long name," he said, dryly, with an equally dry and forced smile. He turned his attention back to the clipboard, but Nyota had a feeling he'd done it for no particularly good reason, this time.
"That's not a reason," Nyota pushed. She was being a nuisance, she knew—everything good-natured told her to leave it alone and let the doctor go on with the appointment, but, truthfully, she was itching for something intriguing, some sort of conflict.
"All right, well, if you must know, Miss Uhura, it was a purely business decision. People around here tend to dislike and distrust things from other species. But I'll save my breath because I think you'd know something about that yourself, now, wouldn't you?"
There was a sharp intake of breath on Nyota's part, but nothing more.
The doctor shut his eyes and regained his senses. Then, he spoke again, his tone more cautious this time around. "I'm sorry, Miss Uhura. There's no excuse for that, but it's, uh…it's been a long day. And I've been dealing with some, uh, people."
Nyota didn't say anything at first. She just stared at him. Then, she shook her head. "I get it. Let's just forget that ever happened."
Doctor Z breathed a sigh of relief and returned to the chart. "Okay, Miss Uhura, so your vitals checked out…"
He could pretend to forget it, of course, but she couldn't. Nyota's head was filled with a million questions, a million questions she would never ask him. What species did he belong to, exactly? She wouldn't have been able to tell that he wasn't human, not from his speech, or his mannerisms, or even his appearance. The name, "Zhaynaasse," was definitely one she'd heard before, but it'd been a long while since then. It had belonged to an Orion; the doctor, however, was certainly not Orion.
Nyota resolved to store that information for later investigation—pathetically enough, these were the sorts of puzzles she solved nowadays. How the mighty had fallen, gracefully.
She was about three weeks overdue for her first prenatal visit, but Doctor Z assured her that it was fine, as long as she made it a point to visit him in proper intervals from now on. Her hemoglobin levels were up to par, and she was clear of any diseases that might harm the baby. She was about 11 weeks pregnant, but the doctor warned her that, seeing as her child was half-Vulcan, she had another, possibly increasingly gruelling, 49 weeks to go. He scheduled her next appointment and first ultrasound for three weeks from then.
"We should be able to tell whether you're having a girl or a boy by then. Definitely by your second ultrasound," Doctor Z announced, happily. After those first moments of pure awkwardness, they'd both gotten more comfortable, grew more relaxed, and it showed in everything from the loosening up of their shoulders to the ease of their speech.
Perhaps Kamau had known what he was doing when he'd recommended Doctor Z to her.
"I'd say it's time to start narrowing down that list of names," Doctor Z continued.
Nyota stilled, her expression a mixture of disbelief and shock.
She didn't have to say anything.
"You mean to tell me you haven't thought of baby names yet, Miss Uhura? That's basic First-Time Mother Quirks 101," he chided, humorously.
Nyota flushed crimson. She was flustered; she was ashamed. It wasn't that big of a deal, honestly, but it said a hell of a lot about where her mind was at this stage in her pregnancy. "I, uh…" She trailed off, almost shyly; even Doctor Z, who'd known her for barely an hour, knew that sheepishness was not apart of her character. "Honestly, I hadn't really thought that far. Hybrids run a very high risk during pregnancy and…"
The implication was left there, suspended in the air between them. She wouldn't say it, but Doctor Z heard her loud and clear.
"Look at me, Miss Uhura," he said, softly, for she'd averted her gaze. She did, albeit hesitantly. There was apprehension clouding her visage. Doctor Z reached out and placed a soothing hand over hers. "Listen, I don't say this very often, but this one's going to make it. Trust me."
There was no way he could be sure of that, Nyota knew, but she found a strange sense of comfort from his sincerity. She wanted to believe him, so very badly; yet, logic wouldn't let her (she wondered who she should thank for that one). Still, it felt nice to sit there and suspend all disbelief.
"All right, Doc." She smiled, a real smile.
He squeezed her hand, then let it go. "Smart woman. I need you to leave here and start a list of names, of goals, of sports, of colleges—everything you could possibly want for this kid. The next time I see you, I want a comprehensive play-by-play sort of plan that he or she will most definitely not follow, even though you're going to spend the next 12 months perfecting it.
"Doctor's orders."
